Chapter 4 - Karter
One Week Later
“Man, it’s good seeing you around the club again, old man.”
“Careful who you’re calling old. Last I looked, I’m not the only one with gray in their beard,” I sass back at Bulldog.
He’s right. It feels good to be back. Better than being a lab rat at the hospital. I remember the club. Every part I see, I know, even though twenty minutes ago, I wouldn’t have been able to describe it. I just knew I’d been here before.
The mind is a weird thing. I know some things perfectly, others not at all.
Then I see or hear something, and bam! Everything comes back.
I recall that a fight once broke out at the pool tables because the boys got too drunk and couldn’t remember who was stripes.
And at the bar, there’s a chip on the left side from when a chair was smashed into it when a vamp was told to keep walking but didn’t.
The vamp wasn’t hurt, just startled enough to get her head out of her ass.
Speaking of vamps, I haven’t seen any. I know I’ve been out for a while, but I doubt Casper made that much of a change when he took over as president.
“Something going on?” That’s the only reason vamps are ever out in the cold and the families are inside.
We aren’t that cruel. We put them up if they ain’t got a place to stay.
But we don’t take vamps who move into the clubhouse.
Each room is reserved for a brother, not a woman.
If someone wants to be a club vamp, they need their own place.
They ain’t welcome on the property all the time, and they need to have a place to go when shit goes down or we’re just tired of their asses.
“We got… something in the works.” Bulldog looks away from me when he talks. A tell of his. He’s hiding something.
When I arrived at the clubhouse, I got some welcomes, but most seemed distracted by something. They’re putting on a front, and I honestly thought it was them feeling weird about their dead former president walking around.
It seems only a select few knew I was alive the whole time. The rest thought I was dead. Till I woke up. Then everyone found out, but it was still kept hushed since the club didn’t know if our enemies would make another attempt on my life.
I really thought this was just a bit of the “ex meeting the new girl” sort of awkwardness.
I’ve got no ill will toward Casper. From the moment he joined the club, which I remember, I knew he would be a good fit for officer one day.
And when he took on the enforcer’s role, I started thinking of him as a good backup to my position.
I think we even spoke about it once, or I did with someone—not really sure on that part.
I know I talked about someone taking over, but it’s muddier than the backwaters of Louisiana trying to recall who I was talking to.
“This about the girl?” I ask.
“Ruby?” He looks at me with wide eyes. I’m not sure if he’s surprised I guessed right or because I didn’t call her by her name.
I nod simply instead of asking him why he looks that way.
With a heavy sigh that has him hunching his shoulders as he twirls the beer in his hand, he nods. “Yeah.”
“Is it bad?” I look at him, dipping my head a bit to make sure he sees I’m asking.
I want to know. I might not remember the girl, and I might have my own issues with her—specifically, how she talked to Diana—but doesn’t mean I don’t care enough to know how she is.
It’s like asking after someone’s aunt. I’m not attached to that person, but I know they are, so I ask to show I care and support them.
Is it wrong that I know Bulldog, and half this place, feels more for her than I do right now?
Probably. With her being my kid, she was most likely here often.
She probably got close to the guys. I don’t know if she has an old man or not, though I don’t think so since no one is talking about it.
But I doubt she stayed away and didn’t come here at all.
And my club ain’t the type to ignore someone’s kid.
We look after them, even if we don’t let them in the club.
At least not yet. None of the boys are old enough, but one day, if they want in, we’d let them prospect.
Even if they don’t want in, we’d still look after them. They’re family, after all.
So is Ruby. Even if I have no memory of her.
“It’s not good,” he says with a shrug, then looks at me with an expression I know all too well. He was my VP. Now he’s Casper’s. That look might mean a million things to someone else, but to me, it means shit is fucked. Not dead and gone, but close.
I nod again.
Glancing around, I take in everyone. Some seem more upset than others, like Kooper and Mama Bear, but it could be for a variety of things. And with all the bullshit of everything else, I don’t have the energy to ask.
It’s probably about Ruby. And I can’t offer comfort. Not in the way I’m sure they expect from me.
“Think I’ll head out.”
“You sure? We can get a room for you if you don’t want to drive.”
I shake Bulldog off as I stand.
“Feels good to ride again,” I say. I’m not even sure I have a room anymore. The biggest room is for the president, and that ain’t me.
I get a few chin lifts and some waves, but I feel a sense of relief from the entire club at my exit.
I get it. Doesn’t mean I like it. That I don’t feel it.
But the moment I sit on my bike, there’s relief in me as well. Which should feel wrong, but I prefer it to guilt. I can leave and ignore the pretense of having to care when I don’t know the girl. I just don’t recall her.
I’ve been back home for a few days now. I’ve gone through the house more times than necessary. Looking at pictures, smelling perfume, going through Ruby’s stuff—anything to trigger a reaction. But there’s nothing. Not a single damn thing.
Which is why I pass the house today. It’s familiar and not all at once, and I can’t deal with that right now. Not when I’m meant to remember what was there and don’t.
I ride instead. Just around town, remembering things here and there and just letting my absent mind lead me where it wants to go.
After an hour of riding around, I pull into the local hardware store.
During one of my angry moments—which apparently is common according to General, the memory loss pissing me off to where I can’t hold it in anymore—I ripped a dresser drawer out and broke off the handle.
I can’t fix most things in my life right now, but I can fix this.
I might not recall Ruby, but I at least need to make sure I keep her room free of debris.
If she still calls it that. It’s the least I can do for someone who calls me their father.
I noticed that the room I figured out was hers had more dust than the rest, so she probably rarely visits or just stopped coming altogether. The rest of the place seemed well enough, though. Either I used to be a decent cleaner or the club sent someone over to tidy it up.
Probably the latter, since I was stuck in the hospital for close to nine months.
As I walk into the store, I pull out my phone and look up the app for this place to figure out what aisle has what I need.
I’m a man—I don’t ask questions when I can do shit myself.
This place also doesn’t have signs above each aisle like it should with names about what’s down each, just numbers.
And unless you have the app, no one can tell you what the numbers mean.
I guess I must have asked once to know that.
I head to aisle fifteen and start looking for what I need. Doubt they have the exact style, so I might as well find something close enough to the silver pull bars with a twist to replace the lot of them. If I’m lucky, she won’t notice the change.
I’ve got a feeling in the pit of my stomach that she’s the type to notice a lot of things, though. And a change like this might set her off. Seems silly enough, but the feeling is there, and I just deal with it over trying to understand it.
“Oh, hello.”
My head snaps to the left. She’s here. Babygirl. My nurse. The only thing that feels easy right now.
Standing as pretty as can be, all doe-eyed. Strawberry blonde hair pulled into a low ponytail with pieces falling around her oval face. Her lips are full and pouty, and they draw my gaze just like her blue eyes. Eyes that stand out when she wears any light blue scrubs.
Like the ones she’s in now. Tight scrubs that show off a female body that’s had me thinking so many bad thoughts that my brain should be scrubbed clean.
“Di—” I clear my throat before giving away that I know her name. One she never gave me herself. “Nurse Zimmer.”
“Diana,” she corrects with a quick smile.
“Diana,” I repeat, more to see how she reacts when I call her by her name than trying it out on my lips. I’ve said it a few times already. Like this morning when I thought of her in the shower and didn’t deny myself the pleasure of rubbing one out to thoughts of her.
And her reaction doesn’t disappoint.
Her chest rises, emphasizing tits that are begging me to see if they can fit in my palm. Her face gets flushed, and a rosy tint covers her neck. My curiosity to know just how far that tint goes down is incorrigible.
“How are you feeling?” she squeaks out, and I feel the side of my lips tip up in a smile.
I make her uncomfortable. I like knowing I do that. You can tell it’s not the type of uncomfortable that you run away from in fear. More the type that makes you flustered and you don’t want to embarrass yourself.
“Good. How’s work?”
“Good.” She nods and bites her bottom lip as her eyes move to the side and back again. “Doing some repairs?” She gestures at the two different handles in my hand.
“Sort of.” I wince as I look away from her and back to the astronomical choices in front of me.
I get that everyone has a taste, but I wish this were simpler.
There are too many that are similar to the one I broke, but none of them are the same.
I have half a mind to just do “eeny, meeny, miny, moe” and call it a day.
I look back at her, and with a sheepish grin, I confess my sins. “I broke something that wasn’t mine, and I’m trying to fix it before anyone notices.”
“Oh.” She comes closer, her sweet peach scent hitting me. I inhale deeply, hoping she doesn’t notice. “Can I help?”
I should say no. I should not be okay with a girl my daughter thinks is taking the place of her mother getting too close. Especially regarding fixing something that belongs to my daughter.
But I can’t seem to care about all that bullshit right now.
All I know is that Diana doesn’t make me feel bad for losing my memory.
She isn’t mad at me for something I can’t control.
She tries to help me, not glare at me and demand I remember something and someone I don’t.
She doesn’t hold it against me or judge me for it. She’s just trying to help.
And screw the fact that I find her attractive and can’t seem to stop thinking about her. From the moment I locked eyes with her, she’s all I can see.
I’ve seen other women since I woke, and not a single one sets my heart beating at double speed. Not a single one gets a second thought, or even a second glance compared to Diana. I don’t know what it is about her, but everything pulls me in, and she does nothing to encourage it. She just smiles.
A smile that had me tripping over my tongue the second I saw it.
“You know anything about dresser handles?”
She looks at the handles, then at me and smiles wide. But she shakes her head. “Not a thing.”
“Me either. I’m looking for something like this.” I show her the picture of the dresser with one of the handles still intact.
“Hmm.” She grabs my phone from me, and I stand rigid as her fingers brush mine, but she doesn’t even notice as her focus is on the picture.
She zooms in and looks it over for a second before going back to the pull wall.
I watch her with fascination as she chews on her bottom lip, narrows her eyes, and looks at each handle closely before glancing back at the picture to shake her head.
She repeats it several times before grabbing one off the wall and handing both the phone and handle to me.
“This seems to be the best match.”
I slide my phone into my back pocket with one hand and grab the handle with the other. It’s not one I saw before, and honestly, it’s the best option.
“Works for me,” I say with a shrug as I grab a few extras to redo the entire piece. “Thanks. So, what brought you here? Drawer issues too?”
She laughs, and it’s fresh and light and just brings a warmth to my chest.
“More like we’re finally getting around to updating the cabinets in the kitchen and decided that knobs on the top ones are better than nothing at all.”
“We?” I latch onto this word like a lifeline.
Does she have someone in her life? A husband? A boyfriend? I look at her finger, something I’ve looked at a dozen times before, and confirm there’s still no wedding ring. Not even a tan line of one.
“My nana. I live with her in her place. It’s falling apart, but it’s home,” she says easily with a quiet laugh, ignorant of the slight panic attack I gave myself a minute ago at the thought of her being with anyone but me.
“Need help?”
She raises an eyebrow at me with a smirk. “You know about kitchen knobs now but not dresser handles?”
“What can I say? I’m a man of many talents, but also someone who’s willing to admit when things are over my head if it’s a bigger issue than what my skills can do.”
“Oh, a man who admits his faults. How rare.”
I laugh with my lips closed as I lean in closer, just enough to get her undivided attention. “There aren’t many, darling.”
Her eyes flicker from mine to my lips. Her tongue peeks out and moistens her top lip before her eyes go back to mine.
“I bet.”